


Leave It To The Breeze

by SoWrongButSoWrite (CinnaStarks)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Trespasser, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/SoWrongButSoWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of life after the Inquisition's disbanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave It To The Breeze

They are halfway between Skyhold and South Reach when Cullen wakes up alone. He doesn’t have to see for himself or reach out for someone who isn’t there. All he needs is one breath. When fresh ink fills his lungs instead of the ironwood splinters he has grown so accustomed to, that is all he needs to realize that Lady Rutherford is gone.

“Maker.” Cullen mumbles into his pillow before pushing himself up. Lit only by beams of dawn’s light streaming through cracks in the inn room’s shutters and blurred by bleary eyes, the short note takes requires a few minutes to read but less to process.

> _Vhenan,_
> 
> _I was feeling a bit restless when I woke this morning. Loaded the bronto with everything but your clothes. The innkeeper’s niece agreed to watch it until you came by. When you’re ready, find me by the water with Adan and Carroll, who refused to let me leave without him. Do Mabari even like water?_
> 
> _Unconditionally yours,_
> 
> _Zu_

As much as he wants to slow down, instinct throws his clothes. Instinct fumbles at the buttons of his linen shirt and nearly pushes his swords straight through its sheath. Instinct doesn’t give his curls more than a few moments of attention before he can exit the room.

“Maker watch over you, ser.” The innkeeper says when Cullen passes by the desk, to which the commander reciprocates. Cold, Umbralis air greets him as he pushes the front door open, sending a chill down his barely armored spine. For a moment, he wishes that the fur he had grown so used to wasn’t locked away with the rest of his former uniform in one of the many bits of luggage they’ve brought with them to South Reach and beyond.

The moment ends when he breathes in Lake Calenhad’s air deeper than he ever could with the burden of iron platemail upon his shoulders.

“Ser!” A young woman calls out, waving the bronto’s lead as erratically as one would a sparkler. The pack animal at hand licks at the inn’s stone wall, unaffected by the girl’s excitement.

Cullen thanks her with both words and a few sovereigns he has made a habit of keeping in his back pockets. Lead in hand, he walks to the nearby stable. Just as Izuna mentioned in her note, both her horse and their Mabari are gone. Within minutes, he is trotting down the road on his own mount. The bronto follows behind, its lead loosely tied to the horse’s saddle to keep Cullen’s focus on the coast rather than the cargo.

She isn’t hard to spot, not with Carroll sitting beside her, his tail swishing lines into the damp sand. Adan drinks a few feet away from the pair.

Since the Exalted Council, that tuft of hair she brushed to the side has grown long enough tie back into a small bun atop the her mostly shaved scalp. She holds a familiar pendant, its blue glow drifts across the morning dew. Her head is bowed, but the words he hears are not of a prayer. Some are not even her own.

“I don’t know, Dorian.” She says, her tone riding cautiously above a whisper.

“You want this, don’t you?” Cullen cannot help but smile at the sound of his old friend’s voice. Even if he does sound a bit worried. “Of course you do. You’re Izuna Rutherford, savior of Thedas and, more importantly, my friend.”

“But how am I supposed to just-” Izuna cuts herself off with a frustrated grunt. “-forget about everything he’s planning.”

“By doing something that, as far as I know, you haven’t even tried to since the Conclave.” The Magister’s tone cuts through the air. Carroll tenses. “Live.” Izuna lets out a soft, but still bitter sigh in response. “I heard hooves. Did you hear hooves?”

For the first time since Cullen spotted her, she turns to acknowledge his presence. Her smile is tired, but sincere. “Yes.”

“Perhaps your husband can help get my point across.”

“Dorian, there is no way you could know-”

“Of course I do. Your voice went from Pentaghast to Montilyet in mere seconds.”

With a roll of her eyes, she gestures for Cullen to sit down beside her. He does, gently wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. “I’m fine.” She answers his question before it can form upon his lips.

“No, you are most certainly not.” Dorian snaps back. “You’re refusing to let yourself be happy when-.”

“-When our world could very well end before the next Age can begin.” Her words are strained. Her grip on the crystal tightens and with it, Cullen’s on Izuna. She doesn’t protest, letting her head fall onto his own shoulder. “I don’t want to die thinking that I could have done something more.”

“There’s nothing more you can do, Izuna.” His tone softens into something more somber, her name as heavy on Dorian’s lips as the armor Cullen once wore. “Not yet, at least.”

“He’s right, love.” Cullen’s fingers massage at her left arm, paying careful attention not to near its stub. Though valid, Izuna’s amputation is not a point he is planning on using against her for a while. “I understand how hard this transition must feel, but you’re only going to feel worse if you worry about things that are far beyond your control.”

“That’s not to say you can’t still rescue cats from trees or certain ex-templars from making fools of themselves.” Dorian says. “I may be brilliant, but it would be a fool’s errand to try and rid you of your addiction to heroism.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Seeing as I am at no risk of being at the pointy end of a sword, be it spiritual or silverite, I suppose I could come up with something cheekier.”

For the first time in what has felt like an eternity to Cullen, his wife laughs. “That won’t be necessary, my friend.”

“Good, because I’m saving my creative power to find ways to deal with the Magisterium.” The sigh that follows is so melodramatic that it overcompensates for the distance. “Now go rescue a few cats, or mabari since this is Ferelden we’re talking about. Do mabari even climb trees?”

“Take care of yourself, Dorian.” Cullen says through the laughter that’s tickling his throat.

“ I will do my best. For both of your sakes.”

The crystal dims as the sun breaches Lake Calenhad.


End file.
